Miraz
by Rebekah D. Author
Summary: Read every book that man has written, and you will learn one thing—the evil man is always evil. You never hear his side of the tale. You never know his motivations for the decisions he made. My name is Miraz, king of Narnia, and this is my story.


Read every book that man has written, and you will learn one thing—the evil man is always evil. You never hear _his_ side of the tale. You never know _his_ motivations for the decisions he made.

My name is Miraz, king of Narnia, and this is my story.

I was born the younger of two brothers. My eldest brother, Caspian, was the heir to the throne of Telmar and Narnia.

You would have thought that two brothers in a castle of elderly lords would be closer together than anything else. It was not so. I preferred the courtroom life, the politics, the intrigue, the keenness necessary to make one's way in the world. My brother preferred the simple life of the people.

Oftentimes, though _he_ was heir to the throne, I was the one who ran the kingdom. He wore the crown, I paid for the crown. He married a simple girl of the forest, I made alliances with my marriage to Prunaprismia.

The worst was, my father preferred him over me. He praised Caspian before the kingdom, and forced me to make deference to my own brother. And when my father died, despite the fact that only I stood at his deathbed, Caspian was made king.

Two years passed after his coronation, and Narnia and Telmar fell more and more into decay. There were rumors of reuniting the ancient creatures from Narnia's mythology with present Telmar and creating a new Narnia.

The very idea chilled my bones.

Caspian stood in its defense, and I could stand it no longer. I organized a hunting party to celebrate his birthday, and the lords and I rode out with him. We saw a boar in the forest, and we shot at it.

My arrow did not strike the boar. In fact, it did not even come near to it. My arrow pierced my brother's neck, so deep he bled to death before our very eyes.

Several of the lords threatened to kill me, some stood on my side. Lord Sopesbian, Lord Glozelle, they were loyal to me. We struck down every other lord that rode with us that day, and buried the bodies.

The two lords stood firmly on my side. They stood before the country and told them of the terrible occurrence, that we had been attacked by Narnians and driven away. Only we three had survived.

Caspian's wife died from a broken heart, leaving only her son and heir, a tenth Caspian to grace our line. I chose to spare his life. Perhaps someday he could mend his father's errors.

Lord Sopesbian and Lord Glozelle helped me gain at least the name of Lord Protector of Telmar and Narnia, until young Caspian should grow of age to rule the throne.

I determined that Caspian should know the intrigue and keenness of politics… and so he did. I kept away everything that could possibly distract him from the political life. His nurse was forbidden to tell him fairytales. His tutors taught him only the Telmarine history of Narnia. Why must he know further back? Those times were long past. He must concentrate on the present.

But then my wife gave sign on our child growing inside her. If young Caspian could rule the throne better than his father, then could not my son do even better?

It was supposed to be a quiet thing. The archers would shoot him in his bed, blame it on the Narnians, and that would be the end of it.

But curse that wretched half-dwarf Professor! Could he not see that Caspian's death would be better for the kingdom? But no, he had to save that boy's life, carry him off to who only knew where. As fireworks were shot off for the birth of my son, there was nothing I more desired than to shoot Caspian.

My most trusted riders were sent out. They returned without Caspian, but still not empty-handed. They brought back a Narnian, a Narnian of all things.

At least this gave me a scapegoat for my nephew's disappearance. Once again, the lords stood at my side once they learned of this terrible treachery, of their king-to-be, kidnapped.

To quench the rebellion, I was finally made king, the title I had deserved all along.

King Miraz. The name had a ring to it, especially after one King Caspian after another, for decades upon decades. King Miraz. I liked the sound of that.

My army rode out against the Narnians. That sniveling coward of a Professor, who dared to tell me to my face that I ought to fear the forests, I ordered him killed. We left before I saw it done.

We built a bridge across the fords of Beruna, crossed it with our armies. We would win this, I had no doubt of that.

As for that mythology about the Kings and Queens of Old, well, I knew not what to believe. I called it mythology, but in my heart I feared that this history would come to life. Caspian may not have had the makings of a king, but those kings and queens? Most definitely.

I was in the palace when those Narnians attacked. My direst nightmare came true as I looked upon the old, old creatures battling against me. But one by one, they fell.

What did I have to fear? Only some were yet alive. I joined my army and crossed the fords. The battle would be won once and for all, and I could rejoin with my family and raise my son to be the best king Telmar had ever known.

The Narnians were desperate, I could tell. Not that I could blame them. Even I would be desperate to escape the tomb of a dead lion. Aslan's How they called it. Musty old grave was more like it.

They sent a delegation, offering a duel. What craziness was this? I had no reason to accept their request. My army stood at their very doorstep, ready to annihilate them.

But my lords, captains, my most trusted men—they dared to believe that I, _I_ Miraz, king of Narnia, was afraid of a mere boy. This King Edmund could not be as old as Caspian, and his brother not much older. Why should I fear him?

To prove it, I accepted the challenge.

The day dawned. I had been correct, there was nothing to fear from this boy king, Peter. His very eyes told me he was unprepared. He continually stared elsewhere, as if thinking of other things. He would be easy to kill.

I searched the crowd behind him, the Narnians, for Caspian. He was gone, along with the beautiful dark-haired queen, girl though she was. Where had they gone?

We battled, strike by strike by strike. Child he may have been, but this Peter knew the arts of war. His skill nearly equaled my own.

Caspian returned with the dark-haired queen.

My strength was waning as I looked on him. He called for a pause, which we both so desperately needed. "Five minutes?" he asked.

"Three." I said. No need to let the boy know how tired I really was.

I told the captain not to let that boy king come any closer. He betrayed me.

Our challenge lasted but minutes longer before I could stand it no more. "A break?" I asked, trying to keep the begging from my tone. He allowed it.

My respect only grew for this King Peter.

Time passed by in a haze until I found myself kneeling at his feet. This was death, I told myself. You are going to die at the hand of this boy.

But no, he handed the sword to Caspian. He handed the sword to my nephew to do what I had done to his father. He raised the sword, looked me in the eye.

At last, he had gained that virtue so necessary for a king—to do whatever needs to be done for the best of the country. My death would ensure his Narnian reign. My death was best for him.

I told him he would finally make a good king. I admitted to him that I had been wrong.

He still was not material for a king. He stabbed the sword down into the ground at my knees. He would give the Narnians back their kingdom, he said. Was that what he thought this was all about? I wanted to give Narnia a good king, not a kingdom with a terrible king such as he.

But this was not my decision any longer. I limped back to my people.

Lord Sopesbian helped me back to my feet, like the good man he was… then stabbed me in the back, figuratively as well as literally.

Darkness washed over my eyes like a wave on the seashore.

"Treason!" I heard.

"No." I tried to shout, but not even a whisper came from my mouth. I lost all control of my body.

I felt myself falling, falling, falling. Darkness circled me on all sides, then cold. Unbearable cold. Cold so icy it felt like fire on my hands.

I opened my eyes. Darkness gave way to a dim light.

"Why, hello." A woman's icy voice spoke. A deeper chill rode up my back as I gazed upon her white face. "Welcome to hell. My name is Jadis."

"No!" I shouted, but there was no one to hear.

No one to care.

Nothing.

Time passed like one eternal night. I looked up, and still could see a lovely place so much like Narnia I began to call it so. Little by little, people filled that place.

One, a winged horse. A pair of beavers. A faun. My brother Caspian and his son. The kings and queens of old. A lion so great and beautiful I wished to merely touch him.

There was no pardon.

There was no gain.

I had done what I thought best in my life, without thought for the best for others.

And now I would pay the price.

Though that price seemed mighty steep to me.

 **Author's Note: The inspiration for this story came from a quote by Shakespeare (who would have guessed?): "Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water." I was struck by the idea that we always remember Miraz for the terrible things he did—but the reasons he did them? They were written in water. We forget them, or never search them out in the first place.**

 **And a long overdue note for those who have followed my other** _ **Chronicles of Narnia**_ **stories:**

 _ **Songs from Narnia:**_ **Since the beginning, this has been a write-it-as-it-occurs-to-me story. If you have ideas or suggestions for another song, just let me know!**

 _ **Letters from Lune:**_ **I have not abandoned this story. Unfortunately, it abandoned me and somehow disappeared from my computer. Hence, I intend to rewrite it entirely from scratch. It will probably be a while, though.**

 **Upcoming works:**

 **There is no guarantee of any sort of upcoming works. I am trying to concentrate on my original fiction, more than fanfiction, with the goal of publishing in 2016. However, fanfiction is still a good muse-attractor, and a certain person (no names mentioned but it starts with** _ **W-I-L-D-H-O-R-S-E-S-1492**_ **) is constantly giving me more ideas. I might just be back sooner than I thought.**

 **Thanks for reading, and pretty please leave a review with any comments, questions, and especially (constructive) criticisms.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Writer for God**


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